v u l v a l i c i o u s
Will You Miss Me, My Dear? And My Wild, Wild Hair?
"We talk hotels, we talk whisky, underwater, overthinking."
The lines are running through my brain like leftover sink water--dirty, not very cleansing, perhaps a bit heavy. But I like it, I think.
And things are shaping up here, turning into something I like more as each day passes. The floor in my room invites me to dance, and I thank it with my feet. The windows allow in plenty of light, and I wonder if the people on the street can see me when I'm naked.
I wonder who wrote the words I can't stop thinking, if it was Bitch or Animal, or the two of them sitting together, writing the things we all feel.
"Maybe love is underwater, I am caught in the rocks."
There's a sweet, dark beauty in those words that makes me feel comforted.
My cunt, a safe haven.